


No One's Boy

by Diary



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Assassination, Assisted Suicide, Bechdel Test Fail, Blood and Injury, Canon Gay Character, Cross-Generational Friendship, Dark Character, Faceless Brienne of Tarth, Families of Choice, Grief/Mourning, Holding Hands, Late Night Conversations, Literal Sleeping Together, Love, Minor Renly Baratheon/Loras Tyrell, Morally Ambiguous Character, Murder, Podrick Payne & Brienne of Tarth Friendship, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-18 18:10:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17585789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diary/pseuds/Diary
Summary: Warning: Contains death and assisted suicide. AU. “If Podrick Payne will stay quiet about what he saw, a woman will give him this coin.” Complete.





	No One's Boy

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Game of Thrones.

A boy watches people preparing for the newest tourney when a serving lady catches his eye.

Quiet and stumbling over his words when he does talk, he doesn’t know why the sight of her causes the feeling of something crawling over his skin. She’s the plain sort of pretty, and though, perhaps, the tallest person around, she carries her tallness in such a way she doesn’t, at first, appear as tall as this. Moving quietly, she carries a pitcher she uses to refill cups, and occasionally, she’ll stop to pick up something or let someone pass.

Her eyes turn to him, and he sees her quickly dismiss him.

He was supposed to be part of the bustle of the preparation, but his cousin spent most of last night on a chamber pot. After the boy had emptied it six times, his cousin finally curled up in bed, and after drinking some ginger tea with honey, he’d told the boy to properly clean the pot, and then, leave until sunset came.

Snatching up some dropped bread before a surly hound can, the boy keeps his eyes on the lady throughout the morning. He moves quietly when he needs to, and he’s careful to stay out of everyone’s way. A few times, her eyes land on him, but each time, he’s promptly dismissed.

Some part of him has the vague notion she ought to know better. He means her no harm, but no ordinary serving maid, whatever she’s up to, she’s relying on everyone dismissing her.

But he’s not.

…

Near nightfall, he finally loses sight of her, and letting out a small, irritated huff, he begins trying to listen for anything out of the ordinary.

A feeling he isn’t sure of overtakes him, and he finds himself letting his feet rather than mind lead him.

Slipping into a room, he witnesses her sliding a thin knife into a knight’s side, and she catches the knight as he begins to fall.

When she sets the knight on the floor, the boy sees his throat has been slashed, too.

“A painless death can be a gift. This knight doesn’t deserve such a gift. The Many-Faced God demanded two deaths in exchange for the knight’s. Cara Springborn and the child growing within her were given such a gift under a statute of the Maiden.”

With a pained, tearful gasp, the knight, Ser Lyam, the boy remembers he was called, takes his last breath.

Standing, the woman puts the knife away before reaching up and bringing something else down that she slips into a different pocket of her dress.

When she turns, the boy’s skin finally settles.

Clear, strong blue eyes, white-blonde hair, and a thick, jutting face take him in.

He hastily makes a clumsy bow.

The woman sighs. Then, gently, she says, “A woman won’t harm you, child. A woman only kills those whose deaths are paid for. No one has paid for this child’s death.”

Slowly, as if approaching a skittish animal, she makes her way over. Kneeling down, she peers into his eyes. “Does this child have a name?”

Nodding, he answers, “P-P-Podri-rick Pay-Payne.”

“Is Podrick Payne afraid, or does he merely have trouble with his words?”

“I’m n-not afraid, my lady,” he truthfully says. “I know my words. They- they just don’t c-come out right most of the time.”

“A boy will outgrow this in time, I think.” Producing a coin, she extends it towards him. “If Podrick Payne will stay quiet about what he saw, a woman will give him this coin.”

The coin is a golden dragon.

He knows what sort of things such a coin can buy, and he knows the best ways to hide it until the time to spend it comes. He knows his cousin, a sober, not unkind man, would be happy if he gave it over, and his cousin would spend it wisely and reward him for giving it over.

However, he shakes his head. “I won’t t-tell anyone, my lady.”

“A boy does not want the coin?”

“S-something t-tells me not to take i-it.”

For a long moment, she studies him.

“Very well.” Putting it away, she produces a different coin. “A boy will not be a boy forever. When he is older, perhaps, he’d like to come to Braavos. It is a city of freedom, full of many opportunities. If the boy protects this coin, he can show it to any Braavosi seaman, and they will take him to Braavos.”

Hesitating, he takes it, and with a bow, he says, “Thank you, my lady.”

“A woman will see the boy safely home.” Standing, she offers her hand, and putting the coin up, he takes it.

…

Two days after meeting the woman, the boy’s attending to his cousin’s horse when a fight breaks out between several men, and before he can process it happening, the boy is kicked in the face by the horse.

When he comes out of his daze, he becomes aware of the fact he was slashed open from shoulder to mid-stomach by one of the men’s swords.

He does the only thing he can think of: He screams.

…

Darkness turns to light, and clad only in bottom undergarments, he finds himself blinking at the sight of the woman sitting nearby.

He makes some noise, and coming over, she gives him a sad look. “A maester is attending to you, child, and has given you a potion to keep you from feeling the pain.”

A maester comes in. “Oh, he did wake. My lady, I’ve located the boy’s cousin and sent a raven. If- I can keep him until his cousin comes.”

The boy hears the truth: The maester will keep his body until his cousin comes.

He finds himself scared. Even with the potion, he can feel his insides beginning to stop working underneath the thread used to close his skin back up.

However, he supposes everyone dies, and not many choose how, when, and why.

Taking what little breath he can, he grabs the nearby coin, and tugging on the woman’s sleeve, he holds it up when she looks back down.

Her eyes grow even sadder. “This maester will kindly leave us? The boy’s cousin will make the necessary arrangements when he comes, but a woman will give the boy a gift before she leaves.”

“Probably for the best, my lady,” the maester quietly agrees.

Sighing, the woman withdraws a flask. “A woman wishes she didn’t feel sorrow, but she does. There is only one god, child, but he welcomes all when it is time. Do you know any form of him?”

He nods. “I say my prayers to the old gods and new, my lady.”

“A woman will say them for you, now, Podrick Payne. Here, drink this, and listen.”

The drink is tasteless, and he listens to the soft murmur of prayers until his chest and stomach start to itch.

Finding a looseness, he begins pulling the thread out until he’s left with a fresh, sensitive scar on the outside and everything working properly inside.

The woman stares at him, and frowning, she declares, “This was- is- this sort of thing does not happen often. A woman has never seen it happen until now. Stories, a woman has heard, but she thought, only stories, they were.”

“Well,” she places the coin back in his hand, “a woman does not argue with the Many-Faced God. Most say to him, ‘Not today.’ But today, he has said to a boy, ‘Not today.’”

He gives her a tentative smile.

Coming back in, the maester drops the linens he’s carrying when he sees them.

“The Many-Faced God gave the boy a different gift than he often gives,” she tells the maester. Blue eyes hold the boy’s. “Would Podrick Payne wish to come with a woman now?”

“More than anything, my lady,” he quickly answers.

Nodding, she produces the golden dragon. “This maester will give this to the boy’s cousin? He has heard the boy’s words. A woman will take the boy to the House of Black and White, and perhaps, we will know why he has received a different gift.”

Trembling hands take the coin. “That’s probably for the best, too, my lady.”

Withdrawing another pouch, she hands it over, too. “This one is for the maester. A woman will ask the Many-Faced God to not take him until he is old in thanks for what he is done. A woman knows not whether he’ll grant her request, but she will ask all the same.”

“Thank you, my lady.” He glances at the boy. “Take care of him. I imagine he’s still quite frail.”

“A woman will.” She holds out her hand, and jumping down from the cot, the boy takes it.

…

Shifting the boy in her arms, the woman greets a sea captain in a language the boy doesn’t know.

Returning the greeting, the captain eyes the boy. “I’ll be happy to take him, too, lady, but all the other cabins are filled.”

“The boy is called Podrick Payne. He will sleep in a woman’s cabin with her. She is taking him to her home.”

“Always nice to have children on board, my lady,” the captain cheerfully says. He smiles at the boy. “A pleasure to meet you, little Pod.”

“Thank you, captain. It’s a pleasure to meet you, too,” he replies.

…

Sitting on their bed, the boy asks, “How do you change faces, my lady?”

“It’s a skill the Many-Faced God grants me.” Working on a shirt and pair of trousers for him, she considers her words. “What you saw a woman do to that knight, it’s what a woman does. Faceless men will send people to the Many-Faced God sooner than he’d take them himself for a price. Or sometimes, as a gift to them. Faceless men have no names, no family, and no true home but the House of Black and White.”

“Like maesters, septons, and septas?”

Smiling slightly, she answers, “In a way, yes. Septons, septas, and maesters serve the Many-Faced God in a different way than we do, but they serve him all the same.”

“How long have you been a faceless- man? Lady?”

“A woman has always been no one. When she was a baby, a fisherman found her floating in a basket in the rivers. He was dying, and so, he took her to the House of Black and White in order to receive the water a woman gave you. He died peacefully. But a baby was healthy and strong. She grew up in Braavosi, became skilled with a sword, and once, a Dornish lord wanted to have children with her.”

“She chose to serve the Many-Faced God instead of anything else.”

“Do you have any idea where you come from, my lady? Why you were in the river?”

Motioning for him to raise his arms, she slips the shirt on him.

“The baby was wrapped in a blanket containing the sigil of House Tarth. The baby was born a girl. She was very big for a baby, and her face was not pretty. If she was indeed born to House Tarth, they might have found shame in her, and so, they released her to one of the water gods.”

The boy frowns before giving her a look filled with empathy.

…

After supper, the boy begins to lay at the foot of the bed, but the woman says, “Podrick Payne is no pet. He may sleep beside me, underneath the covers, if he wishes.”

Crawling up, he gets underneath the covers. “Thank you, my lady.”

“Tomorrow, a woman will begin trying to teach the Valyrian language. It and Lorathi are the first languages she learned.”

Pressing against her, he yawns. “Will I be a faceless man someday, my lady?”

“A woman cannot say. Podrick Payne may pursue whatever dreams he wishes.”

And soon, the woman and little boy sleep and dream.

…

The boy learns a large amount of Valyrian quickly, and when the woman sets him down in front of a man, he understands the man’s words, “A woman has never brought a healthy one this young before. Where is the boy from?”

“Answer him, Podrick Payne.”

“My lord? Your grace? I’m sorry, I don’t know how to address you.”

The man kneels down. “A boy may call this one Jaqen H'ghar. No title is necessary.”

“I was born in the Riverlands, my- Jaqen H’ghar. But I’ve never stayed in one place for very long. The lady,” he gestures to her, “took me from Barrowton.”

“This woman gave him black water.”

A startled look crosses Jaqen’s face, and he looks between them. “Did the woman give a boy water, boy?”

Nodding, he takes off his shirt.

“Indeed, she did,” Jaqen murmurs. He stands. “Follow me, boy.”

They follow him to a pool of black water. “A boy may stay here for now. A warning, however: this water often brings the gift of death. If a boy drinks or touches it, he may end up receiving the gift he didn’t before. And,” suddenly, Jaqen’s eyes pierce his, “this is a house of death, but its inhabitants do not take the life of men for selfish reasons. Remember this, or suffer worse than what you were saved from, boy.”

“Yes. I understand.”

…

A man walks into Evenfall Hall, and he takes in the frail form of Lord Selwyn.

Nearby, Prince Renly watches with deceptively easy eyes.

Kneeling down, the man holds out an old but well-preserved blanket. “I’m originally from the Riverlands, Lord Selwyn, but I found myself in Braavos when I was a boy. Cedric Rivers. I learned of a girl-child who had made it to Braavos years before my time, and then, I learned House Tarth might have a connection to this girl.”

Coming over, Prince Renly carefully takes the blanket, and bringing it over, he helps Selwyn hold up a reading glass.

“Yes,” Selwyn hoarsely says. “Please, Cedric Rivers, tell me of this girl, and I’ll give you everything but the isle itself.”

“I didn’t come here for any reward, Lord Selwyn. I’ve heard this girl might have been cast to the river gods in hopes of the next child being-”

“No.” Teary-eyed, Selwyn gives a firm shake of his head. “The seven blessed me with three girls and one boy. For a long time, I thought it had pleased them to take back what they’d given.”

“Here, my lord,” Renly gently says. He helps the old man wipe his face.

“A woman named Roelle, she was septa to my house. Ten years ago, she fell ill, and fearing death, she confessed. Everyone believed her story of an armed man breaking into the nursery and taking the baby, my blue-eyed Brienne. She was such a happy, playful baby, and she loved songs more than anything.”

He gestures to nearby singers. “She was only a baby, but I think she would have liked the stories of fair maidens and brave knights the best. We, my dear wife and I, looked for her, we had ever building on this isle searched top down to bottom, every nearby ship stopped and thoroughly searched, every known cave explored, we offered amnesty, gold, titles, anything in return for our baby. My boy, my poor son, if he wasn’t in the sept, he was in the godswood, praying for his baby sister back.”

A shuddery sigh goes through him. “Galladon was his name. He’d made her a stuffed sea lion. She wouldn’t go to sleep unless it was in her crib.”

“Then, Roelle confessed. She considered my girl’s health a mockery when my two other precious daughters, Arianne and Alysanne, were taken so early in life. They were true beauties, anyone could tell even at such a young age.” His next words are bitter, “She truly loved them.”

Renly squeezes his shoulder before looking at the man. “Just as Dorne does, Tarth has gone by right of firstborn for centuries. With the unfortunate loss of her siblings, Lady Brienne is? Was? heir to Tarth. Likewise, Tarth simply doesn’t get rid of girl children as if they’re a burden. If nothing else, a girl often has the chance of giving a grandson.”

The man nods. “A fisherman on his way to Braavos found a baby girl wrapped in that blanket in a basket, my lord. He took her to the House of Black and White. Since she was healthy and so young, they didn’t give her black water. Instead, they gave her to an orphanage. From what I’ve heard, she was a strong, intelligent girl with a kind heart.”

“However, I’m not sure when exactly it happened or how, but I’m sorry, your Brienne died when she was young. From what I understand, there wasn’t much, if any, pain.”

Gently stroking the blanket, Selwyn mumbles, “At least, now, I know. There’s no more hope, but hope had gotten to be so painful.”

“Thank you for telling my Lord Selwyn this,” Renly says with clear pain in his eyes. “He’d like to extend the hospitality of Evenfall to you. Feel free to eat your fill from the kitchens, and then, you’ll be shown to quarters.”

“Yes.” Lord Selwyn looks up. “My daughter’s funeral will be held tomorrow. If you would be kind enough to say a few words- in some way, even having never met her, you know more of her than I.”

The man nods. “Of course, my lord. Prince Renly.” He stands.

…

The day is clear when Prince Renly Baratheon helps Lord Selwyn place the blanket, a few baby dresses, and a misshapen stuffed sea lion on a funeral boat.

“I’m truly sorry, my lord,” he softly says. “Seven reunite her with her sisters, brother, and mother.”

“Yes. I’m sorry, too, Lord Selwyn. Even though I never met Lady Brienne, I imagine she would have been proud to have you as her father.”

Through his tears, Lord Selwyn pushes the boat out into the lake. “I pray the seven to help me be worthy of seeing them all again someday.”

A flaming arrow is brought over, and Renly offers, “Allow me to assist you, Lord Selwyn.”

With him helping Selwyn hold the bow, Selwyn manages to hit the raft with one shot.

…

A week after a man arrives, he plays a game of cyvasse with Lord Selwyn.

“I imagine you’ve learned some tricks from the House of Black and White.”

“Aye, my lord, I have. But I’m not a killer, and I’ve never had any face but this one.”

Smiling slightly, Selwyn nods. “I’m dying, Cedric. With the knowledge Brienne is dead, Renly is my heir. There are some cousins who have a direct claim, but it’s a lord’s right to bequeath everything to his king. Robert Baratheon- well, I never liked him, but I’ll give him this: He won’t begrudge his younger brother my isle.”

“After my wife died, I courted many women, and some of them were wonderful people. Some, I really liked. But I never loved any of them, and when I thought of them bearing my children, I worried I might not be able to love the children the way a father should. That I’d always compare them and find them lacking to my dead and missing precious babes.”

“Renly, I doubt he’ll ever have an heir of his loins, but he’s a good man. He can choose his own heir as well when the time comes. He’s determined to keep me alive, and he’s been away from that Knight of Flowers too long in the process. Never had much use for that family, either, but-” He shrugs. “Not being able to understand the love two people share doesn’t automatically mean the gods condemn it. That it’s not real.”

“Prince Renly does strike me as a good man, my lord,” the man agrees. “In Braavos, that there are men in relationships such as his with Ser Loras is a simple fact. There are women who only love other women in such a way, too.”

“That will never come to pass in Westeros,” Selwyn comments. “I’m in constant pain. It’ll never ease, despite the best efforts of talented maesters. I’ve kept myself alive and in this pain for near five years now. Hope. Hope I might one day see my Brienne again, living and breathing.”

“Now, there’s no point. I want the pain to end. I want my friend to do what needs to be done for this Isle and its people and go back to his love. I’m afraid to hope I might soon see my wife and children, but I know, the longer I stay alive, the longer I know for sure it won’t happen.”

He looks straight into the man’s eyes. “Please, if you can, help me, Cedric.”

The man suddenly has a greater understanding of the sadness a woman once felt.

“Let’s finish our game, first, my lord.”

They do, and then, the man helps Selwyn into bed. Withdrawing a flask, he says, “If you drink this, there will be no undoing it.”

Selwyn nods. “I understand. Will it hurt?”

“No, my lord. I promise you in the name of the Many-Faced God, it will be painless.” He adjusts the furs over Selwyn. “No trace will be found in your body afterwards. It’ll be as if your body simply succumbed to illness.”

Quickly draining the flask, Selwyn takes his hand. “Thank you. Seven keep you, Cedric Rivers.”

“Seven receive and bless you, Selwyn of Isle Tarth.”

With one last closing of his eyes, Lord Selwyn is gone.

…

In the great hall, Renly cheerfully greets, “Cedric! Would you like to look at the new cyvasse set I plan to have commissioned for Lord Selwyn? I think it’ll make it easier for him to play without having to use his reading glass so much. Playing seems to take his mind off his pain somewhat.”

Looking down at the plans and back at Renly’s warm face, the man feels an even deeper sadness, and it fully hits him why he can and will never be a faceless man. All men must die, yes, but almost all men and women leave behind pain and sadness when they do.

“It’s well-designed, your grace. Unfortunately, I won’t be around to see how he takes to it. He was more tired than usual, and so, I helped him into bed. Sleep came easily once I did. And I’ve just received word I need to leave sooner than planned.”

...

After leaving Tarth, he finds a Braavosi sailor, and holding up his coin, he says, “Valar morghulis.”

“Valar dohaeris, my friend. I’m heading back to Braavos.”

“I’ve heard. Is there room for one more on your boat?”

“Aye. Do you have a name, my friend?”

…

Jaqen H’ghar is waiting when the man returns. “A man still lives and sees.”

“Yes,” the man agrees. “I didn’t kill him for personal reasons or gain.”

“This is true, the man did not. And yet, the man did gamble by taking the black water. The man is clearly favoured highly by the Many-Faced God.”

“I gambled, yes, but I’m not favoured. My lady is.”

“Perhaps, a woman once named Brienne is. Yet, a man would do well to understand: A man can belong to no one, but a person who has dedicated him or herself solely to the Many-Faced God will never truly have the person who considers themselves as belonging to this person.”

The man nods. “I understand.”

A bloodied man hobbles inside, and Jaqen goes over to him.

…

“A man is back.”

“Yes, my lady.” Pod sits down.

“How was his trip?”

“My cousin died years ago. But I was still able to resolve some feelings I’ve had since I was a child.”

She gives him a small smile. “A woman is glad for you.”

“Do you have a new assignment, my lady?”

“Yes. A lord hates his firstborn son and wishes him dead so that the lord’s second son may inherit. The price is the second son’s first child. A woman is sad for the firstborn. She will give him a dignified death, and he will not even know he has been killed until he is with the Many-Faced God.”

“Do you think the father will really kill his firstborn grandchild?”

She shrugs. “A woman can never understand the thoughts of a man such as that.”

“Who will you be, my lady?”

Closing her eyes, she takes a deep breath before reopening them, and when she does, she answers in Dornish with a Northern accent, “I am Cara Snow, natural born daughter of a knight who served in...”


End file.
